Part 5 (2/2)

Abbey hunched her shoulders and edged into the room.

Caleb strode in and took a seat on the bed.

Mark shrieked, ”Don't sit on the bed!” and made for Caleb as if he was going to hurl him bodily off the bed.

Abbey screamed.

”Sorry, man,” said Caleb, launching to his feet.

Mark stopped in his trajectory and stood there, wringing his hands, muttering, ”Don't sit on the bed. Please don't sit on the bed. Don't sit on the bed.”

”No bed-sitting for me,” said Caleb.

Mrs. Forrester reappeared. ”Mark is very protective of his stuff. We're working on that.” She turned to Mark. ”Mark, why don't you show them your Oxford Atlas?” Then, as suddenly as she was there, she was gone again.

Abbey stared after Mrs. Forrester, wis.h.i.+ng she would stay-as if the tiny woman could provide them with any protection against her hulking son. And yet Mrs. Forrester obviously managed Mark.

Mark stood in the center of the room curling and uncurling his fists, his breath coming in raggedy starts.

Abbey looked uneasily at Caleb.

All of a sudden, Mark opened his mouth and started to talk. ”The Deluxe Edition of the Oxford Atlas of the World is considered one of the best atlases in the world. Perhaps not as good as the Times Comprehensive; but it contains two hundred and seventy-eight maps prepared in Oxford's distinctive cartographic style, with layered, colored contours and exceptional shading. Its ocean maps are some of the finest. It contains stunning satellite imagery of sh.o.r.elines.” Mark paused to draw breath. ”There are two major types of ocean sh.o.r.elines, or coasts. Primary coasts are youthful coasts that are formed mostly as a result of characteristics of the land. There are sub-cla.s.sifications within this. For example, Hawaii is a primary volcanic coast. The Nile Delta is a deposition coast.”

Caleb cut in. ”Great, it sounds like you can help us then. We have a sh.o.r.eline that we need to identify. Here's a sketch of it.” Caleb held out the crumpled piece of paper.

Mark's mouth remained open and he twitched slightly, like a video that had been paused on a TV with a vertical hold problem. Abbey wondered if he might resume his speech precisely where he'd left off. But after a couple of seconds, he took the paper and laid it flat on his desk to smooth the edges. He studied it for a moment, then carefully removed a piece of onion-skin paper from a box on his desk, sat down, and began to trace the drawing slowly and silently. He seemed to take hours to mark each indentation, curve, and point. When he was done, he just sat and stared at the paper. Abbey fidgeted behind him, wondering if she should say something, comment on all the maps in his room, his atlas, anything. She wished Mark would flip through his atlases or something, so it would seem like he was looking for the answer instead of just staring.

Caleb wandered around studying the maps on the wall, but thankfully not touching anything.

”Ocean or lake?” Mark's voice startled Abbey.

Caleb returned to the desk. ”We can't be sure. I think ocean from the color and size.”

Mark went silent again.

Abbey checked her watch. It was almost four o'clock-the time they were supposed to meet Simon at the stones. She hoped he wouldn't go through without them.

Finally, Mark spoke. ”This is not a sh.o.r.eline currently in existence.”

”What do you mean by that?” The words were out of Abbey's mouth before she could stop them.

Mark's brow scrunched up and his face grew cloudy. He started to rock slightly. ”This is not a sh.o.r.eline currently in existence,” he repeated.

Abbey and Caleb looked at each other. For once, Caleb's green eyes reflected a small hint of worry. Was Mark about to go off on them? Should they call Mrs. Forrester?

”Mark,” Abbey said carefully, ”you say it's not a sh.o.r.eline currently in existence. Are you trying to say it could be in existence in the future? If climate change resulted in a rise in sea levels or something like that? Is that what you're trying to tell us?”

Mark stopped rocking, but his nostrils flared and Abbey tried not to imagine the body in the sea-green sweater vest hurtling in her direction. But he seemed relieved to answer. ”Yes.”

The roar of a vehicle engine pierced the air outside. Mark lurched up from his desk and lunged to his window. He turned back to Abbey and Caleb. ”You need to go.”

Caleb nodded. ”Sure, in a sec, we'll head. Do you have an idea where the sh.o.r.eline is?”

Mark looked as if he might explode. His bulbous cheeks and forehead resembled the thin skin of a tomato that had been left to ripen too long. ”You need to go. Now.”

”I don't understand,” Caleb started.

Mark reached for both of them; his meaty hands that had been so gentle with the pencil just a few minutes before now clamped painfully on Abbey's arm. He dragged them both to the door. Abbey felt swept along like a marionette, her arms banging against the desk and doorframe as they walked, her foot catching on the hall rug. She wondered if he planned to toss them down the stairs. Rag-doll physics was created for the gaming industry to make dying bodies look more realistic by making animated characters a collection of multiple rigid bodies tied together by a system of rules that determine how the bones can move relative to each other. She pictured her own fall, the loss of control, the crush of bones, and the eventual stillness of limbs.

But Mark didn't toss them. He thrust them into the dim light of the stairwell. ”Take the stairs. Go out the bas.e.m.e.nt door. Stay away.”

”Stay away from who?” Caleb whispered.

Mark flapped at them. ”No more questions. Go.”

A man's voice came from the kitchen, its resonant tones mixing with Mrs. Forrester's softer ones.

”Come on, Cale!” Abbey pulled at her brother's sleeve. She didn't like the voice. They were partway down the stairs when Caleb turned back to Mark. ”The sh.o.r.eline?”

”I will bring the topographical maps to your house tomorrow.”

Abbey and Caleb raced the rest of the way down the stairs and out the bas.e.m.e.nt door into the yard. A silvery blue Jag was parked on the road. It had white racing stripes and a gray leather interior. Abbey's eyes fell on the personalized plate: MANTIS.

Abbey froze. ”Oh my G.o.d, Caleb. It's the name from the email.”

Mrs. Forrester's front door opened and the man stepped out. He had his back to them, still talking to Mrs. Forrester, who remained in the house. His silvery hair fell to his shoulders, turning up here and there with soft whorl-like curls. He wore a fancy suit and overcoat, his statuesque and lanky frame both elegantly graceful and quietly menacing. He stooped slightly, his head jutting forward and downward. Like his namesake, Abbey realized with a shudder.

”Run,” Caleb mouthed to Abbey, ”to the stones.”

The twins ran as quietly as they could, tiptoeing to lighten their footfalls on the wet pavement, letting their breath out only in short silent blows, until they reached the bushes. As soon as they were hidden by a veil of green, Abbey risked a look back. The man stared up the hill directly at them. Abbey spun around and ran wildly up the hill, no longer making any effort to be quiet. Branches whacked her in the face, stinging her skin. Rainwater from the plants streamed down her cheeks and neck, soaking her s.h.i.+rt and coat.

Simon stood under a tree by the rosebush, waiting for them. He had the hood of his Gore-Tex jacket up and he watched their mad approach with a look of bafflement.

Caleb slowed down enough to stutter, ”Mantis is at Mrs. Forrester's. He saw us. Let's hide in the mirror building. Maybe there'll be pa.s.sengers waiting and we can blend in, or sit in the bathrooms.”

Abbey didn't stop. All her thoughts of not using the stones again had vanished. It was like they were calling out to her. She continued running over the stones until, with a whoosh, the damp forest vanished. She clamped her eyes shut as she felt herself moving through s.p.a.ce, and the light penetrating her eyelids became brighter.

The air she sucked in felt like it came from a blow dryer, her breath heavy from her wild run up the hill. She opened her eyes to the blistering rays of the sun and a vast swath of sky with no shade. All around her, as far as the eye could see, was sand-dune after dune of golden sand.

Caleb and Simon almost smacked into her a second later. Then they, too, stood staring. ”What the...?” said Simon.

Abbey whirled back to look for the stones. They were still there, but the wind blew a thin sheet of sand over them, blurring their edges, making them alternately silver and gold.

Chapter 5.

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